Fractured Hearts
by RagingSerenity
Summary: Styx. She stands close to the dark water, watching it intently. Someone's running towards her. She doesn't turn. Doesn't want to know who noticed her leave and followed her. Doesn't want to be convinced to turn back.


**Disclaimer: Zeus strike me down if I own Percy Jackson. … Okay, nothing happened. :P**

**A/N: Bear with me. I know it's angsty, but please trust me. You'll be glad you did in the end :).**

**Also, this was written back in November '12, and after the last two stories, I thought I might share something slightly different.**

* * *

Annabeth sits hunched in a corner of her cabin, swimming in one of Percy's oversized sweatshirts. If she weren't pressing her face against her knees, anyone who entered would see her red-rimmed eyes.

But nobody comes, anyway. Her friends were there, trying to comfort her, but they're long since gone, scared off by her bouts of sobbing and incoherent yelling.

The only thoughts she seems to be capable of forming are 'It's so unfair,' and 'Why did he have to go back?'

They'd made it out. They'd seen the sunlight, and reunited with their friends. But when they'd argued about how to close the doors, they'd come under attack and she and Nico were knocked out. Percy came running to her, kneeling by her side.

"I have to go," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I want to stay, but somebody has to take the key down there and lock the doors." He took a breath. "The others wouldn't stand a chance in Tartarus. I might. I promise I'll do whatever it takes to come back… and… if I don't make it all the way out, then I'll wait for you in Elysium. We'll be together again, Annabeth," he promised, looking her straight in the eye. Then he kissed her. "This won't be our last kiss."

A moment later he was gone. Jason told her later that Percy had grabbed the key and jumped over the rail, flying straight down through the gaping doors. The key had glowed, making Percy's silhouette visible until the doors had slammed shut behind him.

Annabeth wanted to jump after him as soon as she regained her bearings. She didn't care if she died, she'd just wait for him in Elysium, like he'd told her he would if worse came to worse. But Piper and Hazel held her back and convinced her that she was still needed. And they told her to have faith in Percy, to believe that he could, in fact, make it back out.

So Annabeth held herself together. She stayed strong until they'd defeated the giants and put Gaea back to sleep. She stood tall until they returned to Camp Half Blood and prevented an all-out war with the Romans, returned the Athena Parthenon to Olympus and healed the gods' schizophrenia.

Right afterwards, Nico and Hazel took off into the underworld, promising to do everything in their power to find Percy and bring him back.

That was two weeks ago, and Annabeth maintained a stoic composure throughout that time. Waiting.

Today she finally cracked, and since breakfast she's been in her cabin, crying her eyes out and her throat sore. Her dams have all broken, leaving nothing to hold at bay the powerful tug that is an all too physical representation of how much she misses Percy, or the desperation that is threatening to take over her mind at the thought that he might still be trapped in Tartarus, and she might never see him again.

Between all of that she has the biggest headache in recorded history, but that's not really the problem here. No. Percy is gone. _That_ is the problem. "Problem" even seems to be too little a word to describe it, really.

Percy is gone. He must be. If he weren't, he'd have made it back by now, right? If he'd died and reached Elysium, he would have found a way to let her know, right? Nico would know, too. He told her, just before he and Hazel left, that he hadn't felt Percy die yet. So if Percy had died, then Nico would know, and he would have come and told her.

So the only explanation is that Percy is trapped… in hell. Living hell. That his chance to make it out was too slim. Oh, gods, she'll never see him again. Even if she dies, she'll be in Elysium, but Percy…

A tortured wail forces its way out of her throat, and the waterworks start anew. She's mildly amazed that she even has any more tears to cry, but she doesn't give that discovery much thought. It doesn't matter anyway. Nothing matters.

Not for the first time she considers going after him herself. If she gets stuck in Tartarus too… so what? She might still find him, and then they'd get to be together. Even if it's in hell, she'd do it. Being in hell with him seems preferable to living in hell on earth without him.

The thought gains substance in her mind. With every second it becomes more tempting, and more and more it seems like the right thing to do - the only thing to do.

She has to go to L.A. The doors in Italy are sealed now, so the only way to Tartarus is through the underworld. Sure, dying would get her there faster, but she doesn't know if she could leave Elysium once she's been accepted. And there's still the chance that she might find him alive, and it wouldn't do for her to be dead, then. No matter how unlikely she tells herself that possibility is, it's the only thing that keeps her running. Hope.

She knows that the others wouldn't ever let her go if they found out what she's planning. She knows she has to feign normalcy to get them to lower their guard enough. A glance at her bedside clock tells her it's almost dinner time, so she grabs some clothes and a towel and heads for the showers.

* * *

Determination fills her as she makes her way to the pavilion fifteen minutes later. This is just a mission, another quest she has to complete so she can be with Percy again. The other campers are obstacles on her way, so she needs a plan to get around them.

Athena always, always has a plan.

Everyone walks on eggshells. Even the Ares campers are quiet, and the Stolls cast her pitiful and worries looks. Nobody complains when she sits down at Poseidon's table, in the spot where Percy used to sit so they could maintain eye contact or even a conversation while they ate.

Chiron's customary speech is as short as the centaur can make it, and unlike the first time Percy was missing for weeks, he doesn't press her to make preparations for a funeral. Maybe he doesn't want to crush her hope. Maybe, it occurs to her, he's only just hanging onto a shred of hope himself. The idea of losing Percy after all this time can't be easy for him. However, it doesn't occur to her that her own - likely imminent - death might devastate their mentor.

Nobody questions her when she retreats to her cabin after dinner. Not bothering to change, she just slips back into Percy's sweatshirt and crawls under the covers. She doesn't feel the urge to cry anymore, even though she still misses Percy more than she could possibly express. But her desperation is gone now, replaced with a dangerous determination.

She pretends to be asleep when her siblings pile in and drop into their bunks. She has to give them credit for doing it quietly, obviously trying not to disturb her, but she still hears every whispered word, every tearful sigh. Someone shuffles over and she feels a bit of stubble lightly scratch her skin as lips touch her forehead fleetingly and a hand strokes over her hair. Then he's gone, and the cabin goes quiet.

She waits for hours, peeking through almost closed eyes, until she's sure that everyone is asleep. She slips out of bed and into her boots, fishes her cap from under her pillow and the knife from the peg on the wall. On her way out, she stops at Malcolm's berth. She knew he was the only one in her cabin with a stubble. A ghost of a smile passes over her face and she reaches out to touch his fingertips with hers. Then she leaves, tears herself away from them, her family, before she can waver in her determination.

She hurries over to the stables, covered by her cap and the darkness. She hasn't taken anything except the clothes on her body, because even though she still hopes, she doesn't really expect to come back. She doesn't think she'll need any provisions or equipment.

Blackjack whinnies quietly, and she holds her breath for a moment. Thankfully the other pegasi seem to be deeper sleepers.

"Hey, big guy," she says after taking her cap off. "I need your help. I have to look for Percy, and I think he's somewhere in L.A. Can you take me there?"

Blackjack's eyes are drooping slightly, but he neighs and gets to his hooves. Minutes later they're in the air, zipping across Long Island and New York City and the country beyond. She can't see a lot of the ground, but she doesn't especially care for the sights just now. Her gaze is fixed westward, and neither the biting cold wind nor her sleep deprivation can convince her to close them.

* * *

It's the middle of the night when Blackjack touches ground and she jumps off his back. She thanks him, then sets off into the direction Percy, Grover and she took on their very first quest. When she hated him sometimes, but already cared a great deal about him without knowing why.

Now she knows.

The on-duty guard is a slacker and doesn't notice her slip past him. Though, in his defense, she's wearing her cap, and his duty isn't primarily to keep people from _entering_ the underworld.

* * *

Gravel crunches under her boots as she walks up to the shore line. The boat man is nowhere to be seen, and there's nothing she could use to cross the Styx.

Styx. She stands close to the dark water, watching it intently. Percy bathed in it, to gain the curse of Achilles so he would be able to face Luke/Kronos in battle. She had been his anchor to the world when he'd gone under, he told her after they'd won the war. In more ways than one, she realizes, he's been her anchor to the world, too.

She's still thinking about a way to get across, refusing to believe that her plan should fail due to something so mundane as a lack of transportation, when she hears footsteps on the gravel. They're still far away, but closing quickly. Someone's running towards her.

She doesn't turn. Doesn't want to know who noticed her leave and followed her. Doesn't want to be convinced to turn back.

Her mind goes into overdrive. She _has_ to find a way to get across this damned river. Now. The footsteps are closer, and maybe it's just her imagination, but she hears panted breaths.

_Swimming_. Percy made it, and if she uses her determination to find him as her anchor, she'll make it through, right? Of course she will. That stupid river is between her and Percy.

You don't get between Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson. Not even if you're the scariest and deadliest river in the underworld. You. Just. Don't.

She's ready to jump in head first, but suddenly the crunch of gravel is right next to her. Something connects with her middle and knocks her down. Arms find their way around her waist and turn her while she falls. She lands on her back, on something soft. "Oooff…" comes from below her. Correction. Some_one_ soft.

"Geez," says the voice. Annabeth freezes. No. Not possible. No. "Have you put on weight while I was away?"

She wants to break the arms around her waist, wants to scream and curse and thrash and cry and… laugh. It's not possible. It can't be. This… this defies reason.

The arms around her relax just a little, giving her a little space. She seizes her chance and rolls around, coming face to face with Percy. He flashes her his infuriating, sexy, goofy, adorable, lopsided grin.

Suddenly she finds that she can't breathe. Something has locked up in her chest, and she can't seem to convince her lungs to expand or her heart to beat. She just watches him, studies his face, marveling in the fact that he's here, lying underneath her when she assumed he was trapped in the pit of Tartarus.

One of his hands comes up to her face and brushes her hair back behind her ear. The slight touch of his fingertip to her temple shoots lightning through her, and somehow that loosens the knot in her chest. Sweet air mingled with his scent rushes into her lungs, and her heart beats at double speed. If that's because she's pressed up against him or just to make up for the small eternity of not beating is completely inconsequential now.

"How…" she starts to ask, but he pulls her head down and stops her question with a kiss. That she just started breathing again doesn't matter. She kisses him back. Not tender, not gentle. Hard, with a ferocity that mirrors her frustration and a hunger that can't ever come close to communication how much she missed him.

It's Percy who finally breaks the kiss. There's no grin on his face anymore, but he still smiles softly at her. She can see his eyes cloud over as he realizes what she's gone through, and she wants to wipe those clouds away and make him grin again. He squeezes her again, hugging her so hard that it seems he wants to fuse them together. Might not be a bad idea, considering how often they've been gotten separated lately.

"Wanna go home?" Percy asks quietly, and it takes everything she has to keep herself from crying.

She takes a deep breath instead. "Can we… just… go to the sea?"

"Sure," Percy replies. A bark makes her jump to her feet, but Percy catches her hand. "It's just Mrs. O'Leary."

"Did she take you here?"

"Mhm. I would've been a little late, otherwise."

She doesn't reply, just leans into him. Mrs. O'Leary snuffs at them once, then nuzzles her giant wet snout against Percy's neck.

"Hey!" he protests, but pet's her nose anyway. "Which sea do you want?" he asks Annabeth. "I'm sure there are shadows everywhere."

* * *

He sits on the sand, in the middle of a strangely untouched part of the beach. The surf laps at his feet, legs and bottom, but he stays completely dry. All the water does is wake him up.

Annabeth is curled up on his lap, with her arms wound tightly around his neck and back. She'd be content to stay like this forever.

They sit there for hours, through the pitch black of a starless L.A. night and clouded sky to the early morning hours when the red light of dawn crawls over the horizon and tints the overcast in a myriad shades. Now the sun is almost there, the first streaks of gold starting to rise above the sea, replacing the red and pink.

They don't speak. She knows they will eventually, though. She has to tell him how it was; half of her doesn't want to, wants to just be happy that he's back and not worry him. The other half, though, wants to, because she can't imagine how she would keep something this huge from him.

And on the other hand she wants to know every detail of his time down there. Both for the sake of just knowing and to help him deal with it. She still remembers how depressing the darkness in Tartarus was when they were there together - in fact, she can't imagine how she'd ever forget that. Thinking about him having to go through that alone… It's a miracle he hasn't gone mad.

But not now. Now is the time to just be close to him and revel in the fact that he's here, alive, with her. It's really kind of poetic, she thinks, that when she was about to basically throw her life away out of despair and misguided determination, he came just in time to stop her. She's not someone to do stupid things, no. That's his job. But maybe, just maybe, she can allow herself to be a little stupid sometimes, if that means he'll come and help her.

She's almost angry at herself, now, that she didn't turn. She's gone through her reasoning, and found that it was perfectly logical - the only problem was that it was founded on a flawed assumption. Percy _wasn__'__t_ trapped. And she's not too proud to admit that she was wrong. Well, at least she can admit it to herself.

She breathes in deeply, savoring his scent, letting it fill her mind completely. She feels his heart beat against her side, delightfully out of sync with her own. The way they've always been, working together yet working in completely different ways. Pride, she reasons, can't be everything. It wasn't pride that brought Percy back to her, so it must not be everything.

She lifts her head just a little, to place a gentle kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, Seaweed Brain," she says. _For saving me. For coming back. For being here right now._

"Any time, Wise girl," he replies, kissing her forehead.

* * *

Annabeth doesn't know what time it is when she abruptly wakes up. She was on the beach moments ago, but she can tell she isn't anymore. The air doesn't smell of salt anymore, and it's much too dark for her to be out in the open. Especially considering that she distinctly remembers watching the sun rise.

She panics, afraid that she's back in her bunk at camp, that she fell asleep and everything was just a dream. She starts to sit up, but there's a weight on her chest that keeps her down. She panics some more until she realizes that the weight is an arm - a human arm, to be precise, and one she knows very well. Intimately, one might say.

The arm squeezes her, and she relaxes instantly, curling up around it without thinking. He shifts behind her, then his head appears at her shoulder.

"Everything okay?" he asks in a whisper.

She just nods, not trusting her voice to stay steady.

"Nightmare?"

She pauses, then shakes her head no. Oddly enough, she doesn't know what exactly woke her up. They lie in silence for a while, Percy's hot breath washing over her ear and neck, soothing her anxious nerves but stirring quite a few others.

When she feels calm enough, she asks, "Percy, where are we?"

"Motel room," Percy whispers back. "You fell asleep on me, and I thought a real bed in a closed room might be warmer and more comfortable than just me on the beach."

Right. That makes sense. "You carried me."

He doesn't reply, but she feels him stiffen ever so slightly around her. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. For a long moment she's searching for words, but then he cracks before she has found quite what she's trying to express.

"I'm so sorry, Annabeth." His voice is lower than a whisper, barely making it through the curtain of hair over her ear. He hugs her harder from behind, repeating over and over that he's sorry. Soon, tears drop on and through her hair, making it a Herculean task for her to keep her composure.

She tugs his arm loose a little, then quickly turns over so she can hug him back. She doesn't trust her voice, but she hopes that the endless stream of little kisses she peppers his face and neck with can convey her emotions. She's not mad. Well, maybe a little, but certainly not at him. She's just glad he's here now. Glad beyond words that they're both here.

Eventually they fall back to just clinging to each other, burying their faces in each other's neck. He's hugging her like a grizzly mom would hug her lost kid - too tight to be really comfortable, but neither of them wants to let go. His breath comes in short waves, still incredibly warm and still tickling her neck.

"It's," she begins, "it's okay, you know? You're here now, and that's okay. You don't have to be sorry. Just stay."

"But… but I… I promised you that you'd never get away from me again." He pulls back, just far enough that the tips of their noses are touching. "I… broke that promise, Annabeth."

Tears leak from her eyes. She fights them with everything she has, but no amount of sniffling and blinking can stop them. She closes her eyes and swallows. "I know, Percy. And I know why, too." He takes a breath, as if he wants to argue, so she presses on, "Shut up. Please. I know you didn't go because you felt like leaving me alone. Percy, if you hadn't done this, we might all be dead now. It's thanks to you that not even a single one of us is dead or lost in Tartarus."

She dares to open her eyes, which are still wet - but a few tears are nothing compared to the pain in his. "We both know that sometimes we have to make choices that aren't really choices, because we could never allow the alternatives to happen." She moves her hands to cup his cheeks and wipe his tears away. "It's okay, Percy. It may not have been while you were down there somewhere and I didn't know a thing -" she pauses to blink a few more tears away - "but it's okay now. You're here. I'm here. And if all the gods and monsters and titans and giants and whatever else there is are going to descend upon us, then we'll stand up to them. And that'll be alright."

To her amazement, he nods. "Because there's no one else. No one who can fight those fights but us. I know that 'Beth…" His hands move up to mirror hers, and she closes her eyes to enjoy the gentle touch of his fingers stroking across her face. "But it still hurts. It hurts so much, even from just looking at you, imagining what it must have been like for you…" Fresh tears spring from his eyes and wet her hands. "I… I never… wanted that…"

"I know you didn't, dummy. You'd be stupid to," she says, her lips curling into a sweet smile, "because then I'd have to kill you."

"I agree, that would be quite dumb of me."

"Very."

"So… you forgive me, right?"

"For forgetting the cord when you decided to bungee jump into hell?" She puts a finger to her chin in thought. "Yeah, I do." She smiles. "But only if you stop saying how sorry you are all the time. I want to forget those weeks, okay?"

"Me too," he says. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for, Seaweed Brain."

"I wouldn't say that," he replies. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for putting up with me."

"True," she quips, "you can be pretty annoying sometimes."

"And you still love me… Man, I must have really good karma."

"Maybe," she agrees.

"I love you, too, Annabeth Chase. Always."

"Mhm…" She gives him a sideways glance. "Want to make out?"

He stares back at her for a few seconds, but eventually he can't hold himself together. His laughter rings around the room, and although she acts indignant, she soon joins in.

"What's… What's so funny?" she asks after a couple of minutes, when they're both panting slightly.

"Oh, just… I don't know. Your timing?"

"_My_ timing?"

"We are, to put it bluntly, emotional wrecks, have just managed to stop crying over each other and you ask me if I want to make out?"

"Well, if you put it that way…" She looks into his eyes and quirks a brow.

He closes his eyes briefly and smirks. "Hell yes I want to."

"Thought so," she mumbles, pulling him in for a kiss.

* * *

**Technically, I should be studying for my exams that are going to hit me in two weeks(-ish), but… I'm beginning to understand why people always say they're most productive when they should be doing something else.**

**My point: nice reviews make me happy. And when I'm happy, I'm much more inclined to a) procrastinate studying and b) to write happy instead of angsty things. That would be in your interest, too, right? :P**


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